“Ay, I've heard that,” said the Master. “Queer too, and 'im bein' such a bad un!”
Jim Mason rose slowly from his knees.
“Ma word,” he said, “I wish Th' Owd Un was here. He'd 'appen show us summat!”
“I nob'but wish he was, pore owd lad!” said the Master.
As he spoke there was a crash in the wood above them; a sound as of some big body bursting furiously through brushwood.
The two men rushed to the top of the rise. In the darkness they could see nothing; only, standing still and holding their breaths, they could hear the faint sound, ever growing fainter, of some creature splashing in a hasty gallop over the wet moors.
“Yon's him! Yon's no fox, I'll tak' oath. And a main big un, too, hark to him!” cried Jim. Then to Gyp, who had rushed off in hot pursuit: “Coom back, chunk-'ead. What's use o' you agin a gallopin' potamus?”
Gradually the sounds died away and away, and were no more.
“Thot's 'im, the devil!” said the Master at length.
“Nay; the devil has a tail, they do say,” replied Jim thoughtfully. For already the light of suspicion was focusing its red glare.